


Take Me, Possess Me

by sirenalley



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Fingering, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Possession, Praise, Sexual Inexperience, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 06:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21795865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenalley/pseuds/sirenalley
Summary: The air in the room had become both hot and cold at once, dual temperatures at war with one another as he sat, sprawled, in a high-backed armchair. Viren’s face and ears burned, but his toes curled to chase away the chill of naked exposure.Not a meter away the mirror stood, and within it, Aaravos was watching.
Relationships: Aaravos/Viren (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 179





	Take Me, Possess Me

The air in the room had become both hot and cold at once, dual temperatures at war with one another as he sat, sprawled, in a high-backed armchair. Viren’s face and ears burned, but his toes curled to chase away the chill of naked exposure. His robes hung in disarray across his body as his hand worked beneath the waistband of trousers. His eyes were screwed shut, mouth a flat line, all the efforts to block out sight and smother sound. 

Not a meter away the mirror stood, and within it, Aaravos was watching. 

“_Viren_,” the drawl came from the chair, caterpillar perched near enough to be heard. That voice painted its hot bristles over his skin, sinister and overwhelming. “Spread your legs a little better. Are you trying to hide, truly? After everything?”

Shame raked straight through him. It was too much. In answer, Viren snapped his knees shut. “This was a stupid idea.”

Silence came from the figure in the mirror. He ventured a glance, quick in the look. 

Aaravos stood tall and regal as some alien creature, majestic in his otherworldly beauty, eyes dark and half-lidded, lashes the pale white of lace. His arms were crossed over a chest of glittering skin. When their eyes met, Viren paused, captivated and unable to rip himself away. Slowly a smile spread itself across bowed lips, Aaravos grinning as an animal to its trapped and waiting meal. 

“Who knew you were such a timid man,” the elf said. “Allow me to… _rid_ you of some of those misgivings.”

“What—”

The simulacrum shimmered into existence, so that the ghost of Aaravos hung over the back of the armchair, hair a shining curtain as it fell to reach the top of his head. It was smiling with the same promise as its conjurer and counterpart. 

“Trust me,” Aaravos whispered, “and try to relax as much as you can.”

That low, thrumming voice seemed to come from all three sources at once: the beady-eyed insect, the illusion, and the real elf on the other side of reflective silver glass. He knew it was not true. So often did Aaravos fool his senses, he could not trust himself. Nor could he relax—every muscle wound tight in anticipation as his gaze shifted, in turn, over the pieces of Aaravos split between worm and ghost.

It was the simulacrum that moved first. 

Bending further over, Viren was aware of their sudden intimate nearness, until it became difficult to concentrate without threat of going cross-eyed in the examination. Its shimmering silhouette gave off a faint coolness, bright stars freckled over Aaravos’ cheeks, and fake as the recreation was, he could not fool himself into slowing his frantic pulse. 

Then their brows touched—unfelt, no sensation to the contact—and the illusion went _into_ him. That was the best he could manage to describe the phenomenon. One moment Aaravos’ ghostly image was there, and the next it fell, phasing through him, filling the full dimension of space his own body occupied. 

Viren let out a startled noise. It choked off in his throat. 

“What did you—do? What is this? Why do I feel—”

“Shhh. Now, now. It’s all right.” He glimpsed Aaravos looming in the mirror. “I’ve only sent this version of me inside of you for a time. I promise it’s temporary.”

“You can’t be serious.” His heart continued to race, panicked as a rabbit outchased by a dog, attempting to reconcile the sensation of that strange otherness he felt beneath his skin. It was as though something had slid under every bone and muscle, every nerve end, and there it rested, curled warm around the utmost center. Viren’s lips were dry and sweat broke out across his forehead. “This feels… strange…”

“It’s quite useful, as I suspect you will find. I can demonstrate.”

That wolfish expression grew over Aaravos’ face. He wasn’t sure he believed it, but he had no time to consider, as in the next instant he felt that ‘other’ presence seize control—and his legs widened of their own accord, spread enough that both knees pressed to each outside corner of the cushioned seat. Heat crawled up the back of his neck.

“Aaravos! What do you think you’re doing?” 

“I asked you to trust me,” the elf said, lips drooping in a frown. “You are too reticent for your own good, and we are limited in what we can accomplish while separated this way. Hm?”

He watched as a four-fingered hand lifted to touch the mirror from the opposite side, gradient blue to deep purple up a forearm and disappearing beneath one sheer sleeve. “Well… I. Yes, I know. But—this?”

Rather than an answer, Viren again felt the pull of the presence within him, swallowing protest as his own body betrayed him by lowering a palm to the crux of thighs. There, he began to rub himself, reencouraging earlier’s wilted erection back to hot life. His own hand did not seem to belong to him. Viren watched in awestruck, horrifying arousal as he grew hard under the touch in seconds, swollen to tightness by the restraint of fabric.

“There we go,” Aaravos purred.

Possessed fingertips worked open the closure of his own pants, and quickly he shed them, until he was unveiled from soles to waist, on full and unabashed display for the mirror and for Aaravos, who observed the performance with bare hunger. Viren could not look away from it. He took himself into a warm, dry palm—rather, the illusion of Aaravos forced him to stroke at the length of his cock with such inspired fervor that he was merely a passenger to the action, dragged along with the filthy intentions of a creature he could not feel in any material way.

It did not take long for Viren to be reduced to a puddle of panting, delirious pleasure, head back on the chair, slouched down, color high and thighs trembling, precome drooling from the slit of his cock. One thumb smeared it down over the crowned head and rose a pathetic whimper out of his own throat. 

“What a good little mage,” came the elf’s velvet drawl, “so obedient under my hands. Can you imagine it? That it would be me to touch you this way, to satisfy you…” His other unoccupied palm traveled up and over the plane of his belly, pulling at the hem of clothes to reach his chest. “I would make you submit beneath me, I can promise you that.”

Humiliation crawled up the back of his neck, and Viren found he could not even close his eyes of his own will, forced to endure the display of his own hands petting every inch of his body underneath Aaravos’ directed will. Fingertips lifted and pressed at his mouth. He yielded to them, tongue swirling to suck at his own knuckles, tasting the salt of skin. Three fingers filled his mouth to the brim. He inhaled sharply through his nose.

Then they lowered, and after gathering the slickness from his dick, he watched them venture beneath the heavy weight of his own balls and into the tuck of his ass. Viren jerked, muscles all snapping taut. “Wait, wait, hold on—”

“Oh, forgive me. Are you inexperienced?” Aaravos asked, and those wet fingertips halted, only to trace the rim of his hole with an awful patience, causing Viren’s voice to snare in his throat. Over and over they drew tight circles until his thighs began to shiver as he endured it. “Have you never played with this part of yourself? I see…”

The elf’s eerie yellow eyes scanned the room around them. 

“We can make it easier. You wouldn’t happen to have kept that oil in here, hm? For the lamp?”

He spoke with such nonchalance that Viren could not bear a reply, even as he reached over the arm of the chair to the desk just beside, unwilling to acknowledge whether it was the simulacrum or himself which drove the movement. In the topmost drawer he found the slender bottle of oil. 

A shaking hand took hold of it, firmly, for fear he might drop it to the stone. He could not trust his grip. He could not trust his body at all.

When those fingertips—his _own_, he reminded himself—sunk again between his legs, Viren thought he was prepared for how it might feel, but he wasn’t, not as oiled knuckles pried him open, legs apart once more with a knee thrown over an armrest. His voice stuttered out of his throat. He couldn’t seem to swallow down the sounds he made, and perhaps that was influence to the elf’s illusive magic as well. He could feel the weight of those wicked eyes on him. They branded him down to the core. 

One finger was a stretch, but soon came another, body accommodating the burn of penetration up his spine, too thick, only two fingers and already _too much_. Heat blistered in the room. Viren could hear himself panting, overcome with pathetic noises he would never stand to make in the sane light of day. 

“Good little mage,” Aaravos cooed. “Opening yourself up for me, mmm… If only you were willing to reveal this side of yourself more often. I admit, I’ve become rather taken with you. Humans are interesting creatures, but _you_, Viren, have surpassed even my own expectations.”

Oh, god. He couldn’t stand to hear those words, so dark and deep, dragging across nerves until he was oversensitive and shaking, fingers sliding into his ass at a steady in-out rhythm now, wrist at an awkward crooked angle. When Viren attempted to close his eyes this time, he was glad to find he could.

Except the elf’s voice was now more pronounced in the empty cellar of a room. 

“If only I were there, I would have you completely, Viren.” A third blunt fingertip edged alongside the others. His jaw clenched at the added pressure, unable even to cover his own mouth in a bid at silence. “I would _take_ you completely.” And they twisted in, hooking, curling up, driving a splintered sound past parted lips. “For now, I’m afraid this must do.”

Trapped underneath the assault of fingers, his spine ached in its bend, curve of his ass resting at the seat’s edge. 

“Please be quiet,” Viren begged. “Just—shut up.”

He missed the smirk fixed on Aaravos’ mouth, but he swore he could sense it nonetheless, or perhaps it came imagined into the vision of his mind. The thick width of three fingers was almost too much to bear. Viren felt the sparks of bright, painful pleasure as he came, striping his stomach in white threads, cock untouched where it rested swollen in the crook of a thigh. 

Still afterward those fingers remained buried in his hole, loosely stroking at the hot velvet interior. Viren glared into the mirror to conceal some of his humiliation. “That’s _enough_. I won’t have you defile me any longer.”

Aaravos’ musical laughter reached his ears, and in a blink the illusion pulled out of his body, floating ghostly above, trailing its wispy purple shape out of reach. Soon, it vanished.

He lay spent on the chair as his chest rose and fell in an effort to calm the slamming pace of his heart. His fingers were slick with oil, his ass tingled, and his decency was in tatters.

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Aaravos said. “Consider this a bonding experience between us.”

Viren’s expression twisted in exasperation. “I’m going to kill you if you ever get out of there.” He threw himself from the chair and hunted his clothing off the stone floor. Away from the mirror and on the stairs, some of his composure returned, though he was not sure he would chase away the heat in his cheeks soon. 

That night, he took with him all the sensations memory and desire could provide, and when his hand crept beneath the covers in bed, it belonged wholly to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> As I procrastinate on my longer, plottier Aaravos/Viren in the works... have some quick unpolished filthiness.


End file.
